


be cool, sodapop

by earnmysong



Category: Actor RPF, Chicago PD RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:03:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2375621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnmysong/pseuds/earnmysong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I thought you were going to keep it together this time,” he mock-yells through gritted teeth, hands clamping down on her shoulders so he can playfully rock her body back and forth.</i> // Sophia Bush is an extremely emotional person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be cool, sodapop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petragem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petragem/gifts).



> The people are real; the events not so much.

\----

Sophia’s blubbering into the collar of the airport security guard assigned to monitor the scanner belts and metal detectors. Jesse can’t do anything about it, because he’s lucky number one hundred or whatever the number of the day actually is, the person who gets dragged out of line and wanded instead of just having to walk down the government-sanctioned version of a catwalk. Trying to evade these things is bound to make a person appear suspicious and ‘sorry, I have to save my co-star from herself’ is a particularly flimsy excuse if one is a third party who doesn’t live their lives.

He watches what she’s doing out of the corner of his eye, thinks he’s being discreet about it, until the TSA agent standing in front of him taps his shoulder. “Sir? You’re good to go.” The robotic edge to her tone suggests this is the third or fourth time she’s repeated the phrase. Her gaze follows his, sharpness fading as she asks, “Is your girlfriend alright?”

“She’s fine.” Sophia has let go of the man now -- tears are still streaming down her face, though, so he doesn’t blame the woman for looking entirely unconvinced. “You have to know her,” he offers with a shrug. He starts to walk away, backpack slung over one shoulder like he’s still in high school, turns back to clarify, “She’s not my girlfriend. We work together.”

He meets her in the middle of the tiled hallway that leads to the gates, not caring if they’re making it difficult for people to get where they need to be. 

(They’re celebrities, aren’t they? Once you have a verified Twitter, there are certain perks to life. Or so he’s heard. He’s still a B- or C-lister, he thinks, despite the fact that he was in a movie with Dermot Mulroney and is a lead on a major TV show. Having lead status doesn’t mean anything; it’s all about longevity.) 

“I thought you were going to keep it together this time,” he mock-yells through gritted teeth, hands clamping down on her shoulders so he can playfully rock her body back and forth.

“It’s a process. One I’m going through slowly.” She twists so she’s standing sideways between his arms, has a three-second flashback of that London Bridge game from second grade before he lets her loose and they start walking, side by side. “I figure by the time we start airing, I’ll have gotten everything out of my system.”

“And people will, what, retroactively decide you’re not insane? I have to tell you, Soph. I’m not sure how well that’ll work.” 

“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have you break me out of the loony bin. That’s okay with you, right?” she laughs, bumping her shoulder against his.

(He never has to break her out of anywhere, but being friends with her keeps life interesting for other reasons, the list of which gets longer every day.)


End file.
